


The Sound of Silence

by MidnightChardonnay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:09:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightChardonnay/pseuds/MidnightChardonnay
Summary: George Weasely and a regrettable trip through Diagon Alley.Written in reponse to a prompt in Fairest of the Rare: Character George Weasley. Prompt: Hello Darkness My Old Friend.





	The Sound of Silence

“Hello, darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.” 

 

Though he knew that his dead brother’s face would not appear in the mirror, George Weasley was more than a little disappointed when the mirror remained dark. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair, wondering why he continued to do this to himself. 

 

“I had a dream last night that you came home. You had faked your death for some ungodly reason, and finally decided to show your face here again. I woke up angry. Angry that you had faked your death and didn’t let me in on your plan, angry that you took so long to come home, and finally, angry when I woke up and realised it was just a dream. 

 

I keep running the scenes of the dream through my head, wishing that you were here instead of wherever it is that you go when you die. I wonder if you can hear me. When we invented these mirrors, we tried to enchant them to work everywhere. Does that include the afterlife, too? I hope so. 

 

Just in case you can actually hear me, I want you to know that I miss you, brother.” 

 

George put the mirror down on his bedside table and got up. It was still early, the sun's light just beginning to illuminate the world, but not yet cresting over the horizon. He threw on the nearest set of robes, not caring if they were clean or dirty, and walked out the door and down the stairs of the flat he had shared with Fred above their shop, and out into the morning mist covering Diagon Alley. 

 

His feet began to thump lightly on the cobblestoned road, carrying him through the neighborhood he and Fred had chosen to share their business, home, and lives; the still burning street lamps occasionally too bright for eyes so accustomed to darkness. As a chill rolled through his body, he turned his collar up to keep the damp from seeping down his neck. 

 

As he rounded the corner, a surprising number of people were already milling about for the early hour, and they all seemed to stop their whispering and stare at him as he walked by. The sound of silence was deafening. 

 

He wanted to scream at them; to break the silence. The pitying stares, the judging expressions on their smug faces enraged him. Didn’t they know? Grief and guilt are like seeds of cancer, impregnating the happiness of their lives without their consent, against their will. He wanted to tell them to keep talking, keep breathing, to keep...laughing. Even when he couldn’t. 

 

But h e kept walking. Tears streaming down his face, a heaviness in his heart that he knew would never go away. 

 

And when he looked up into the eyes of the strangers around him, all he could hear was the sound of silence. And it was slowly killing him.

  
  
  



End file.
